


head down and daylight fades to black

by queenofglass



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 17:58:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofglass/pseuds/queenofglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark plays the game of thrones when a new queen arrives Westeros. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	head down and daylight fades to black

_"You little fool. Tears are not a woman's only weapon.”_

Sansa had paced the whole of her chambers for a week. She imagined a tail swishing back and forth behind her in agitation. Hours and hours of steps. All this worrying and no news for two days.

Ser Dontos arrived shortly after the bells began to toll. Sansa could hear the cries of the townspeople, bleeding into the night. She was still wearing the blood-spattered cloak, but her Florian was too drunk to notice.

“What is it? What’s happened? Tell me!”

“The victory was with the Lannisters,” Dontos slurred. “Until the dragons came.”

“Dragons?” she repeated. “Ser, this is no time for games—”

“See for yourself, my lady,” he burst out. “Listen.”

Sansa returned to the window, to see the city burning with earnest now. The fire, red and orange, was devouring the buildings with alarming speed. It swallowed ships with wide jaws. She turned to head to argue _no_ , it was only fire, not _dragons_ , but an earth-shattering roar cut through the night. Shadows as large as houses flew through the sky, raining fire onto the streets of King’s Landing. Screams and smoke filled the air.

“Dragons,” she whispered. “But . . . that’s impossible . . .”

“The last Targaryen has returned. Daenerys the Unburnt, the one they call the Mother of Dragons.”

———

She thanked the Seven many times that night. Most of her prayers went to the Mother for her mercy. If Queen Cersei had not left the Ballroom, Sansa would have been trapped with Ilyn Payne and her father’s greatsword.

Ser Dontos had fled her chambers, promising to return with a way out. He never came back. Sansa, strangely calm, watched the dragons fly over the city until morning. By midday, a servant in strange garb informed her that a new queen had taken the city. She was to stay here until her presence was requested.

Sansa soon felt afraid. Her name itself was a death sentence, for no vengeful Targaryen would ever allow a Stark freedom.

Maids entered her room daily, bearing food and information. Daenerys Targaryen now sat on the Iron Throne, surrounded by her foreign legion. Her forces had prevented Tywin Lannister and soldiers of Highgarden from joining the battle. The dragon queen had the cells full to the brim with prisoners. Rumors claimed that Cersei Lannister, the Imp, and Lord Tywin were among them.

The trickle of precious news dried up two days ago. Sansa was still being fed, thank the gods, but the servants no longer spoke to her. They went about their business but ignored her all the same. Finally, she was forced to realize that something beyond her control was at work.

 _I’m to be summoned_ , she thought.

Finally, on the eighth day of her captivity, word came that the new queen had demanded an audience.

———

The servants whispered that Daenerys Targaryen was the most beautiful woman in the world. In person, Sansa could believe this was quite true. The Mother of Dragons sat on the throne looking every bit a queen. Swathed in the colors of her house, Daenerys was poised and deadly.

There were other noble families there, swearing fealty. Daenerys made her decisions swiftly. Sansa gulped back terror. It would only take a moment for the queen to sentence her to death.

The herald announced her arrival, though Sansa wished he hadn’t. Both the queen and the bearded knight standing below the throne stiffened at the word _Stark_.

Sansa wore the colors of her own house, her hair free in the northern style. She knew if she was going before an enemy, she would die as a Stark. Her grandfather and uncle died in this very room.

_Will I do the same?_

The court she thought she knew had switched hands overnight. Though the Lannisters were keen on her suffering, this Targaryen queen would want her quick death. Sansa knew she must be clever. Robb and her mother were still at war against the crown, but if she sailed these waters carefully, their safety and her own would become a real possibility.

“Lady Sansa.”

A voice that sounded eerily like Cersei Lannister whispered in her ear. _Courtesy is a lady’s armor_.

“Your Grace,” Sansa returned, sweeping into a low curtsy. The queen did not invite her to stand, so she sank to her knees. She knew this song by heart. “As it please you, I ask for mercy.”

“Mercy,” the knight scoffed. “For a Stark. Throw her in the dungeons, my lady, she’s been treated fair enough.”

Their gazes met. “I know your sigil, ser. Would a Mormont of Bear Island abandon a child of Eddard Stark?”

“Eddard Stark helped overthow my father,” Daenerys said coldly. “He condemned Ser Jorah to death. Tell me, my lady, why should I spare the daughter of a traitor?”

“Your Grace and House Stark share common enemies.”

That piqued her interest. “The Lannisters.”

“My brother marches on the Westerlands,” Sansa nodded. “He defeated their forces not three days from Lannisport.”

“Tywin Lannister is my prisoner,” said the dragon queen. “Why would I ally with your brother?”

Sansa lifted her chin. “Because my brother will give you the Kingslayer.”

———

For two months, ravens flew between the Westerlands and King’s Landing. Sansa was allowed free roam of the castle. She was given jewels and new gowns. Maids and knights addressed her according to her rank, a princess, Robb’s heiress presumptive.

Daenerys often requested her presence. Once, she allowed Sansa to see her dragons. They were enraged by the cages in the Red Keep; Sansa sympathized with their plight. If wolves didn’t enjoy captivity, she knew dragons wouldn’t, either.

Every day, new lords and ladies arrived to bend the knee to their new queen. Dorne had the first to declare support, but was forced to return Myrcella Baratheon. The Tyrells, ever gracious, continued to supply the city with food, which turned the commoners in favor of the last Targaryen. Rebels were executed at noontime, though Daenerys didn’t touch a single Lannister. Not yet.

When sufficient communication had been established, Robb sent a messenger in his place for negotiations. Sansa recognized his sigil at once and beamed.

He bent the knee and announced himself. “Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish of Riverrun.”

———

The five of them met each day to discuss terms. Daenerys was flanked by Mormont, along with a newly revealed Ser Barristan Selmy. He had been restored to his old position by the queen for service to her in the East.

“Three kingdoms is _hardly_ greedy,” the Blackfish snapped. “The last time a Targaryen landed in the North, it was in the Conquest. It belongs to the Kings of Winter.”

Ser Jorah matched his surliness. “The Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms requires _seven_ kingdoms.”

“His Grace is willing to arrange trading between the realms,” Sansa interrupted. “My aunt rules the Vale, my grandfather the Riverlands. His Grace was already crowned King of the Trident by his bannermen.”

Daenerys, silent for most of today’s argument, spoke. “My claim is to be reduced, while my ancestors ruled the entire continent. Will we change everything my family built?”

“You already have,” Sansa murmured. “By bringing the dragons to Westeros again. Queen of the _South_. King in the _North_.”

The queen leaned back in her chair, thinking. Her expression was hard to read, but there was a new light in her eyes, as if she had discovered a solution to their problems. Whatever it was, she didn’t share it.

“You drive a hard bargain, Sansa Stark,” Daenerys said finally. “But I will meet your brother in person. We can seal our agreement with the executions of our enemies.”

Sansa wondered if her dragons enjoy the taste of lion.

———

The Stony Sept was determined to be the meeting place of both parties. If Daenerys knew the irony of choosing this location, she didn’t express it. Sansa rode beside her, while the queen’s bloodriders brought up the rear. Behind them, in heavy stone carts, the three dragons roared.

“Do you really keep direwolves as pets?”

“My brother does,” Sansa smiled. _An odd question from a woman with dragons in her thrall_. “Not I, Your Grace.”

“Why not?”

“My sister’s wolf attacked Joffrey,” she explained. “Then she chased her off. Mine was the only one left to blame.”

“Cersei killed your wolf but kept _you_ caged,” Daenerys murmured.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The queen’s hair chimed as she turned her head. “A Lannister always pays his debts. She’ll pay with her head.”

———

Robb had become a man in her absence. He was tall and broad, no longer the boyish brother she had left behind in Winterfell. She bent to curtsy. He wasn’t having that; he pulled her up and to him with remarkable speed.

She laughed, but it sounded like a sob. His beard tickled her face while they hugged. She could feel the cool bronze of the crown against her temple. “I missed Your Grace.”

“My proper little sister,” Robb chuckled. “Some things never change.”

She went to her mother next; her grip was tighter. “Sansa.”

“Mother,” she breathed, closing her eyes. She felt the victory sink in at last, though it was bittersweet. Arya and the boys were gone, Father was gone, and Jon was far away in the North. But something else warmed her—their vengeance was coming. _Winter is coming_.

Robb and Daenerys did not bow to one another, though their men did. Grey Wind prowled around them; the queen’s bloodriders eyed him warily. “Your sister speaks very highly of you.”

“My sister has a way with words.”

 _Your sister arranged all of this_ , Sansa thought. _The little bird, the little bird who sang her way out of the cage_.

In the end, Daenerys acquiesced to the secession of the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands. Storm’s End, the Crownlands, the Reach, and the Westerlands were more than enough to support her and the crown’s income. Dorne had always been loyal to House Targaryen, and the Iron Islands were to be monitored by both sides. A joint force would be created to suppress them once and for all. The Boltons had to be dealt with, while a number of Lannister bannermen—namely Gregor Clegane—still roamed free.

It could take years for the kingdoms to settle, but both the king and queen were pleased with the arrangement. With negotiations out of the way, Daenerys began to order executions.

Jaime Lannister was the first to die. He knelt and said nothing while he was charged. Only a smile betrayed his true feelings, but even those were a mystery.

Cersei and Tywin followed him, and in the moments before the former queen died, Sansa felt a stab of pity. Cersei and her twin were united to die, while she and Robb were united to live.

When it came time for Tyrion’s execution, she stood before her brother and the queen to plead on his behalf. Though she had been silent on Joffrey’s treatment of her, Sansa spoke of it now, recalling Tyrion’s intervention.

“You’ve done my sister a kindness,” Robb said, though he still regarded the Imp through narrowed eyes. “The North will not turn you away.”

“The Spider tells me you were Hand of the King before I claimed the city.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tyrion replied, eyeing the queen with his mismatched eyes. “Have you killed that king yet?”

“No.”

“Pity, my nephew deserves a fitting end.”

She bristled. “I care not for japes, Imp. What is it that you want?”

Sansa watched Tyrion shrug. “Life, of course. To inherit Casterly Rock, as it is rightfully mine.”

“Casterly Rock has been given away,” Daenerys said dismissively. “Go on.”

Tyrion was a Lannister, he knew how to play the game. “If you are relying on the Spider—and Littlefinger, I’d imagine—your hold on the kingdom is tenuous at best.”

“And why is that?”

“They plotted with my sister to overthrow Robert Baratheon, the Usurper,” the Imp said slyly. “Who’s to say they won’t overthrow you?”

———

Tyrion could almost pass for handsome with a bath, the chain of office, and a smile for his nephew’s execution. Sansa thought everyone looked beautiful that day—Robb with his spiked crown, their mother in Stark colors, Daenerys and her silver hair.

The queen had left Joffrey for last on purpose. As the guards brought him from his cell, he no longer resembled the golden prince Sansa once loved. Joffrey was unkempt and scowling, but fearful, underneath that.

Grey Wind was only three feet from Joffrey when Robb called him back. The wolf snarled and snapped in anger, but obeyed his master. When the guards left Joffrey to kneel, everyone could see he had wet himself. The northmen and Dothraki laughed together.

While his charges were read aloud, Joffrey, like his family, remained silent. Sansa thought it curious that the vain boy she knew had no words or jeers to share. Perhaps he thought his death would be cleaner that way. What he didn’t know was that each traitor had died on their knees, with a skilled swordsman wielding the sentence. According to the Blackfish, this was more dignified a death than the Lannisters deserved.

He met her eyes. Sansa forced herself not to fidget, knowing her new crown would slide right off if she did so. Her heart beat in tandem with the drums, and the executioner raised his sword.

“Wait.”

Robb stood and studied the former boy king in silence. _They almost fought in Winterfell_ , Sansa recalled. _Look where they stand now_.

“Fetch me a block,” her brother commanded. “Olyvar, my greatsword.”

Joffrey’s eyes widened in horror as the executioner bound his hands. The northmen and the Blackfish shared gleeful expressions, for this was true revenge. Robb was going to execute Joffrey as their father executed deserters and oathbreakers. He would not be given the dignified death his parents and grandfather received. He was to die by the same sword that beheaded Eddard Stark.

Sansa had never seen her father execute a man, so she imagined it was something like this. Robb slid Ice out of its scabbard and recited the rightful tributes to the queen, and to himself. He raised the sword again.

Robb told her once that he and Jon never looked away when their father did this duty. She had watched their father die, and was going to watch his murderer die as well.

One stroke and Joffrey was gone, Grey Wind was howling, and the northmen were cheering.

———

“You’ll visit me, one day?”

Daenerys had to stand on tiptoe to kiss her. Sansa smiled.

“If my brother allows it, yes.”

The queen rolled her eyes. “I’ll demand it. Come with me, I have something to ask of him.”

They found the king with most of his men around him. Grey Wind went to her side at once. Sansa scratched behind his ears absentmindedly.

“Your Grace.”

“My queen,” Robb returned, smiling. “The north will be cold without your dragons.”

Daenerys laughed. “I’m afraid the cold doesn’t suit them, or me. Though winter is coming, according to you.”

“What will you do?”

“Root out traitors,” Daenerys smiled. “Mind my dragons. Marry, if I can find a suitable alliance.”

“There will be a line of suitors,” Robb grinned. “Though I hope they enjoy being a consort.”

Sansa scoffed. _Did he really not see what she wanted?_

“And if we were to marry, Your Grace?” the queen said abruptly. “The Queen of the South and the King in the North. One country, once more.”

This had been the solution Daenerys did not share. This was her last card to play. Sansa studied her brother and knew the answer before he did.

“A gracious offer,” Robb said finally. “A desired one. But I must refuse, Your Grace. I am betrothed to a daughter of Walder Frey. It was agreed upon before my crowning, before the war. I must honor them for their support.”

 _It would give him more power_ , Sansa thought. _That’s why he refused_.

It had little to do with House Frey. Now that the war was won, there were many other holdings of value, traitor’s lands given to the faithful. The promised Frey girl could have her pick of any of them. Sansa knew that in marrying Daenerys, he would govern the entire realm—power he did not wish to have, power he _never_ wished to have.

“Well, the northmen do have honor,” Daenerys replied, mirth in her eyes. “And your women are cleverer than all.”

Sansa could only smile in return. _No one had expected much of me_. She had been Eddard Stark’s daughter, Joffrey’s betrothed, a caged princess, the little bird. No one guessed that she could sing. She sang for her life, for freedom, an alliance, a crown. No one thought her capable of plotting.

Perhaps she did learn something from Cersei Lannister after all.


End file.
